The Informant
by leboisduloup
Summary: Only the man with the cigarette knows everything. Mulder's new informant isn't as cooperative as the others were...


The slit pupils in the beings eyes contracted, until the round abysses had waned to slashes from top to bottom within the seething mass of golden. Stealthy, slow, and silent; it made its way along the roof of the building. Not a sound was made, though in the deep chasms of night that echoed about the small form, few would have heard.   
One of those few, however, was a being of great threat- both to the small wanderer, and to others. Others in high places. Others who knew too much. But perhaps the greatest danger this larger predator posed was to all the people in low places. Perhaps, the greatest threat he made was his inaction, his very aid to the program that would be the final blow against the cities that lay, spread about him, like scattered lights whose fingers spread ever beyond the horizon. Yes. This man, this one man, was enough.  
He turned, now, from his survey of the world at large, and saw the feline. "Hisst!" came the harsh whisper, and the butt of a cigarette- already ground out on the ledge before him- was tossed in the cat's direction. The tom's ears went back, and jaw parted to bare fangs, but he still backed off. Even the animal could sense the innate power the man held.   
The cat scampered away, and the man turned back to the cityscape before him.  
  
Dark pools of warm, inscrutable brown, passing over entwined fingers, were focused on the twin stripes of white that cut across the glossed shadow of cold glass. The man was alone in the universe. The only sun was embodied in the rays filtering from the bright bulb. The only breath was that which exited from his slightly parted lips. The only spot of life in darkness was that which surrounded him, his fanatic aura breathing its bloody will into the void about him.  
"Mulder..."  
The man was not alone in the universe. Soft fingers on his shoulders brought him back to reality, and he glanced up, those precisely balanced fingertips crumpling against one another with the intrusion of her being into his maniac fantasy. But, he was glad to see her no less.  
"So what's the deal this time?"  
He sighed, gaze drifting back over to the window. "Same signal as always. Except this time..." he trailed off.  
"This time what?" she prompted, taking a seat across the table from him. The position wasn't a comfortable one. Rarely did he venture to invite anyone into this apartment, and she had certainly never borne witness to one of these meetings before. Which was the problem.  
"This time you're here." He rubbed at his forehead, closing his eyes. "And this time, I don't know who's coming. Again and again, they sacrifice themselves for..." For what? For him? For the Truth? For the Conspiracy? So many unanswered questions. He rethreaded fingers together, leaning forward to rest his head on his hands.   
She made a small sound of vague assent, and glanced as he did at the white tape scars on the window. The two waited, slipping into their own silences once more. So, the sound of the telephone shattered the silence, and their trains of thought, like a gunshot. Neither jumped; too much shock had been granted them for the sudden ringing to do more than startle. A glance exchanged, and the man lifted the receiver rather uncertainly.  
"Hello...?"  
"You know the deal. She's not in it." The voice was unfamiliar, as he'd expected.  
"I've had enough of this bullshit." He'd thought it over. "She's my partner, and I'm sick of her being excluded. We're in this together, and if you're not going to help..." Unintentionally, brown eyes met clear blue. He guessed she must have guessed what he'd heard on the other end, and the faintly relieved, thankful smile she shot him confirmed it.  
Silence for a moment. "Your desire to endlessly defy authority doesn't always endear you to those who could help."  
"I've honestly started to wonder what help you people can give me anymore."  
"Well, at least you're thinking again, instead of following on blind faith," snapped the voice on the other end. "Now, unless you have a question, or something beyond your defense of her-"  
"She does have a name."  
"-I'm going to hang up. The fact that I have to do this over the phone lines is bad enough; by now, I'd like to leave, since they've probably traced me five times by now."  
"So no information?"  
"Maybe the others were willing to throw you bones, Agent, but I'm not going to. You're going to have to give me somewhere to start. Now, I'll bid you goodbye."  
Before the man could answer, a faint click and the resumption of the dial tone signaled his informant's departure. He slammed telephone into its cradle with far more force than was necessary, the plastic's cracks becoming more pronounced. Obviously, the device had been victim to such outbursts before. The black molded plastic did not protest. Mulder reclaimed his seat.  
"Nothing?"  
"Not a damned thing. I think they're working against me."  
  
He didn't turn around. There was no need to; the long years stretching behind him had left him a fine-tuned instrument, and he could very easily tell that someone approached now. In fact, he'd know this person anywhere; he had a peculiar gait, and the soft slap of his soles on the rooftop whispered the pattern he'd come to know so well. His eyes stayed on the spread, defenseless city. Fingers curled more tightly around the smoldering bit of paper and withered leaf. He lifted it to his lips, drew another breath into already corrupt lungs. Exhaling, letting the gray slip from between wrinkled tiers, he waited. The figure behind waited. A contest of wills; unfortunately for the younger, he had yet to learn that practically no will could contest with the old man's. Many had tried; the number that had succeeded was tiny, insignificant. And in the elder's eyes, all that failed were equally negligible. The young man cleared his throat, as though the elder needed that conformation of his presence. The ravaged lips curved into a predatory smile.   
"I made the phone call..."  
"Of course you did," he spoke, tapping the cinders off the end of the rolled paper. His tone was serene enough, but there was no doubt of the force beneath them. The proverbial velvet glove on the iron fingers. "The question is, what did you tell him?" "Nothing. Of course."  
"Surely, you must have thrown him some clue?" The elder turned, gaze piercing. Without a thought, the younger man seemed to fold back into himself.  
"I had an excuse, you know. He was perfectly willing to argue about the presence of his... partner." The smug intonation on the last word confirmed what the old man had thought; the younger did not grasp the nature of the agents' relationship. Few did. As most did, the younger assumed there was something romantic within. Ah, the sweet naivety of youth. He turned back to his painting of lights.  
"So you simply grumbled about her being there?"  
"Well..." hesitant, but indignant. " You didn't really give me much information on what I should tell him."  
The elder laughed softly. "I shouldn't have to. Are you that much of a child, that you have no comprehension of what we're doing?" After all the work the elder had done to get him into this informant's position... every slaying of the previous crusaders. Every maneuvering within the conspiracy. After all the work he'd done to get this moron into the place where he could do Mulder the most damage- and, therefore, the conspiracy the most good- he wasn't capable of thinking for himself. The elder wondered if he was losing his judgment... Perhaps this idiocy could have been prevented, if he'd taken a closer look at the young man. Ah, well. There was really no reason to worry; whatever story the young man made up, Mulder was fanatic enough to believe in it.  
Assuming he wasn't interfered with. At first, it had seemed perfectly reasonable to put the woman, dear Dana, into the role of partner. She was a true pawn- she didn't even realize the Conspiracy was responsible for her employment. Dear, lovely Dana. Oh, but she'd been perfect. As innocent as they came, and a true unbeliever. If anything, Mulder had played the snake and the corruptor there. If she wasn't a true believer, at the least she was convinced that there was something beyond the stories she'd been given. She was convinced that, if Mulder believed in this, it must have some basis in reality. She knew and believed just enough to make her dangerous- no more could they directly threaten Mulder. She would make him a martyr, if no one else would. One always ran that risk with fanatics; Mulder was, really, particularly successful. He had used his dear partner, and neither of them knew it. What's more, if either of them did know, he doubted they'd care. It was at the same time heartwarming and disturbing. That she could give herself to him so fully...  
He shook his head, dispelling pointless dreaming. The young man had been shocked, spluttering, searching for something to say. Once more, the Elder turned, his cold stare spiteful. "That will be all," he said by way of a dismissal. The young man's jaw worked for a moment, but he finally turned to leave. Once more, the elder was alone on the rooftop.   
  
"It's cold, and miserable, and I don't see anything approaching a crime scene." Her fingers were curled around the umbrella, leaning it over her shoulder as the other digits brushed through brilliantly russet hair. She stared at the back of his head as though she would read his thoughts therein.  
"You wouldn't. The informant said it hadn't been reported."  
"Yet."  
"It won't be, if They have anything to say about it." He sighed, continuing to scour the woods with his gaze. "They'll come, hush it up, make up an excuse. Deny."  
"It doesn't look like there was anything here. No crash."  
"Perhaps they've already been."  
"Or maybe the informant was wrong?"  
He turned to her for a fleeting moment. The force of his obsession had risen, unchained, in the depths of his eyes. It frightened her, this growing fanaticism. It's got you in its grasp. He refused to let go, and she wondered for the millionth time if he would ever be satisfied.  
"Just let me go look..." He turned to the car, intending to grab the camera he'd left on the dashboard. She touched his arm lightly, raising her face to the rain in order to meet his eyes. "Mulder... don't."  
His lips set into the firm, stubborn line they always did when he was being defiant. Her spirits fell. Perhaps the discouragement was evident; for whatever reason, the contours of his visage once more softened, and he nodded. He turned again towards the vehicle, but the tension was gone. She looked around for a moment, and finally walked around the car, settling into the passenger seat with a sigh. "I don't know if I like your new informant..."  
  
"You what?"  
Everything but the ice was gone from the old man's voice now. The young man stared at his shoes, finding something of unimaginable importance in the shine of patent leather. The force of his elder's wrath frightened even him, and he had little to defend himself with.  
"I gave him a location. Said there'd been a crash."  
"And you hadn't engineered one?"  
He raised his head, staring blankly. "Well, no. I thought the point was to keep him from learning anything."  
"The point is to keep him on the wrong path. Giving him blatantly false information doesn't help us, fool, it jeopardizes everything we've done. If he loses his faith in the information you give, he just might wander down the right road. And that is what we're trying to prevent." He emphasized the point, grinding another cigarette into the grimy bottom of the ashtray. "Next time, perhaps you'd better run your idea by someone with a bit more sense. Why don't you give me a report on your plans before you botch them, from now on?"  
The young man's face twitched, rage and shame battling with his careful, emotionless demeanor. "Yes, sir. Is that all?"  
"There's no more to say, is there?" He did not turn to watch the young man go.  
  
The phone rang. Sweating with the force of dark, troubled dreams, the man sits up in the dark. Bewildering, the sound that shakes the air is still part of the dreamworld; he tried to banish it. It will not be pushed aside. Clarity returns to his mind; the glaze of sleep begins to fade, running off the brown eyes. He picks up the extension by his bed, careful again, as though it might bite him. "Hello?"  
"Agent Mulder. We need to talk."  
The Informant is not so arrogant this time. The man wonders if it is merely the lack of his partner's presence that puts the snap out of the stranger's voice. But neither are the hollow words on the other end of the tunnel of metal serpents relaxed; whatever he has to say, the informant is scared. None of the others were, that he could remember. The agent assumes there is a reason for it, but chooses to say nothing.  
"So we do. Do you have something for me, this time?" He cannot keep the bitterness out of his tones; though he had assented to Scully's desire to leave, he had not been happy. The informant, surely, was responsible somewhat; and, although he knew better than to outright insult the stranger...  
"Perhaps. My sources have told me that they've got the coordinates for... a graveyard, of sorts."  
"Oh?" Imagine this. The man had gone skeptical. Had his partner been there, she'd likely suffer a coronary.  
"Yes... it's where They buried their last batch of... mistakes. They didn't turn out quite as planned, I'm afraid, and now they're rotting for it." The disgust was evident in the informant's voice.   
The man grabbed the pen and paper he always kept at his bedside. "Tell me where."  
  
The old man laughed, listening as the recording finished. The fools. The boy had, as he'd expected, been trying to double cross him. Idiot. The elder coughed once, lightly, into a tightly balled fist. He reached into his pocket, found the lighter, took a deep breath of fresh-burning smoke. Had the younger known- well, of course he did not know. The old man had been in this business long enough to be able to trick him. The young man didn't even make it difficult, really, and he found that somehow irritating. The least the boy could do was be interesting. But, of course, few could withstand the elder's wiles, when he chose to beguile someone. His charismatic way had passed more lies than anyone suspected. Least of all that boy. Some moments passed, as he leaned back in his chair, contemplating the people involved... the idiot, the fanatic, and the skeptic. The sound of footsteps once more brought him out of his reveries, and once more he did not turn.  
"You shouldn't smoke those things. They'll kill you." The elder felt a twitch upwards at one corner of his lips, though he said nothing. The boy hadn't tried to sound threatening, but obviously whatever thoughts of mutiny now filled his otherwise empty head were too strong for his will to bear. They laced his words with an ominous tone. The old man, fingers still perched delicately, staining the pristine white paper rolled between his fingers, chose to ignore the threat. The young man seemed to flinch, or perhaps he assumed the elder's wits had dulled over time. Either way, the old man was content. If the younger thought him a fool, then a fool he would play.  
"So. What have you told our would-be savior today?" asked the elder casually enough. He knew, of course, exactly what had been said. He knew, also, exactly what Agent Mulder would find. In fact, he knew these things better than the boy did.  
"Told him about that graveyard. I brought the idea up last week, if you'll remember? We have it set up now, been buried for four days. Three bodies, complete with abduction scars, mysteriously removed tissue samples, implants, and bioluminescence."  
"Thorough."  
"An interesting mix, I thought..."  
"Hmm." The man fell silent once more. He was still dwelling on the sweetness of this position; here, he had the chance to use this boy. The young man, in his thoughts of rebellion, had played right into his hands.   
"Have you been down to check out the site?" asked the boy. The old man paused to grind out the embers that played on the end of the cigarette, savoring the vaguely uncomfortable look the young man had on. Inside, however, the poisonous laughter that often graced his thoughts was rising. Oh, he could hardly have hoped for the puppet to play along better.   
"Do you require an approval on it?"  
"It would help..."  
"If you're so insecure."  
  
The young man wrung his hands, looking straight ahead. Eyelids fell softly as he leaned against the cold, damp concrete of the parking garage, waiting for the old man. Apparently he'd had something to clear up... he didn't much care what the elder had left for; the mere fact that he'd given the Informant a moment to himself was enough. The younger man was nervous; he knew what he meant to do, and the idea of it terrified him. Not the mere act, but the fact that it was the old man... no one, that he knew of, had ever challenged him. Even if half of the Conspirators wanted to rip the cigs out of his mouth and burn his eyes out. In doing this, the young man hoped, he'd be able to help the Agent and his partner. Though he'd been a wholehearted Conspirator, something about the old man... well, if that's what he was supporting with the cover-up, then that was certainly reason enough to undo as much as he could. He had no illusions; this would be his death. if not immediately, then they'd hunt him down. all he hoped was that his death would have a little meaning.  
He'd told the Agent that the shallow grave would contain several bodies, the remains of the latest test subjects. Exactly what the Agent made of that, he didn't know. But, if the young man had his way, there would only be one body in that grave, and it wouldn't be his.  
  
"So, how do you intend to do it?"  
The young man almost crashed the car then, looking at the elder in bewilderment. "Do what?" he asked, with an almost convincing act of innocence. He made a pretense of looking at the road, rather than meet the old man's eyes.  
"Kill me, of course."  
"I don't know what you're talking about," he replied quietly, risking a glance from the corner of his eye. The young man fell silent, noting the landmarks that told him they were close to their destination.  
"Of course you do. I'll admit; with anyone else, you might very well have succeeded." He released a cloud of toxic vapors as he spoke, flicking the cigarette out the window. "But, unfortunately, I'm not so easily fooled." He glanced out the front window, gesturing briefly. "Turn right here."  
The young man, nearly trembling with panic, dragged the wheel to the left. The small lane would have been pleasant if he was in a different frame of mind; as it was, the darkness beneath stretching branches choked him. Glancing skyward, he prayed. Prayed that everything he'd done, everything the Conspirators had done, would all come to nothing. And then, at the old man's direction, he stopped the car.  
  
The fresh earth was rubbed idly from his fingertips; of course, the main part had been done by hired men, but he'd been unable to keep some of the dirt from his form. The lighter sought again, in the inside pocket of his jacket, and he turned to watch the others walk away. With the faintest, low laugh, he reentered the car, and drove slowly away.  
  
When the agent arrived the next morning, he found the crime scene his partner had missed at the last site the Informant had given them. Scully, this time, said nothing; her very silence embodied the obvious mistrust she still felt for their Informant. The two watched in silence as the local police exhumed a body- a well-dressed young man, with a single clean wound in his skull. Neither recognized the Informant, of course. After a brief talk with the chief investigator, Mulder turned around.  
"Let's go, Scully. Nothing here for us..." She didn't like the downfall in his voice, but she said nothing. Instead, she sat in the car, with her usual silent support. He shot her a small, sad smile as they got into the car.  
  
That night, the man sat waiting, illuminated by the weak threads of light from a single lamp. The tape was fresh along the windowpane; accusatory and bone white, it demanded an answer. It was an answer that never came. 


End file.
